Tangerine
by CG again
Summary: Wesley Wyndham-Pryce is on the fast track toward success, about to graduate the Watchers Academy and, perhaps, get a slayer of his very own. But he meets a woman one night who might just change everything...


Notes: This is a Wesley-centered oneshot inside the universe of The Rose, written by coalitiongirl and archived on this site, but there's no need to read "The Rose" to understand it (but there are lots of goodies here for those who do ;) ). Just know that Wesley goes to a school that trains watchers and potentials, and most of the Buffyverse characters go/teach/are locked up there. This fic takes place six years in the past, when Buffy was around nine and before most of the characters entered the school, and Wesley is in his final year there.

This fic would not be here without Disregard, so much thanks and credit goes to her for help with the smut beta-ing (and even phrasing, at times!), Britishisms, and even appropriate scents. :D

* * *

"Come here often?" A well-manicured hand set down a drink at the bar, and Wesley looked up in surprise.

"Sometimes," he said finally, regarding the woman who'd spoken with interest. And she _was_ a woman, though she appeared to be about his age, and he considered himself still a boy at the still-young age of twenty. She was beautiful and sultry and he had no idea why she would bother with someone as awkward and fumbling as he. "I'm studying in a nearby university. Most of the students frequent a closer club."

"But not you." She slid a slim, pale leg over the seat beside his and he gulped as her tight little dress rode up as she moved. "You like to be alone?"

"N-Not at all," he stammered, staring at her in confusion. Oh, he'd dated before, seen several of the watchers in his class socially on a few occasions. And half the younger slayers and watchers had crushes on their beloved Head Boy, too, from what he'd heard. But never had a woman who looked like _this_ shown any interest in him. "You seem like wonderful company."

She smiled, a slow smirk that curled outwards as her eyes met his, and he felt a rush of blood to his groin. "Oh, I am." Her gaze raked over him, pausing at his embarrassing predicament with amusement.

"What brings you here?" he asked quickly, in an attempt to divert her attentions.

She sipped at her drink, regarding him steadily before she spoke. "I'm a lawyer, in town for a case."

"You're a little young to be a lawyer," he observed, taking a drink from his own glass.

"I'm an intern," she clarified. "For Wolfram and Hart."

He nearly choked on his drink. "Wolfram and Hart!"

"Yes." She watched his surprise with amusement, finally extending a hand to him in greeting. "Lilah Morgan."

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce," he introduced himself, automatically taking her hand. "But you're evil!"

She raised her eyebrows. "Is that what they tell you at the Watchers' Academy?"

"How did you-?"

"Who else could you be?" Lilah rose, extracting a folded paper that smelled of tangerine from her blouse. "My number," she murmured, sliding it into the front pocket of his pants, her hand lingering there. She pressed her lips against his cheek and was gone, her glass still half-empty on the counter.

* * *

He tried not to think of the seductress from the law firm again, but she kept returning to his mind at inopportune times- when he was taking an exam, during meetings with Giles, even when he went down to the lower floors of the dorm building to spend some time with the younger slayers and watchers.

"You're all distracted tonight," Beatriz teased him, poking his side with her pencil.

"He looks like he's daydreaming," Krinden laughed, snuggling up on his other side. "Are you in love, Wes?"

"Hardly," he informed them, glancing over their work with disapproval. "These equations are all incorrect, Beatriz. How are you going to pass your maths test if you don't comprehend the basic formula?" He'd been asked to tutor Beatriz in mathematics last year when she'd been diagnosed with dyscalculia, and even though she'd been improving a bit, she was still far behind her peers.

Beatriz shook her head, her long red hair swishing with the movement. "It doesn't matter, Wes. I'm a _slayer_. And one day I'll be called, and saving the world, and no one's going to ask me why I can't do basic algebra. The most I'll need to do is figure out that if there were ten vampires, and I killed nine, that means that one's left."

Wesley couldn't help but smile. "_Ten_ vampires?"

"I could do it!" Beatriz said defiantly. "I started learning martial arts two weeks ago, and the instructor says that I'm a natural!"

"He says that to everyone," Krinden told him, rolling her eyes. "Beatriz is just the only one to believe it."

Wesley grinned. "And are you a natural, too?"

"Does it matter?" Krinden shrugged good-naturedly. "If I'm called, no one's going to care if I'm a _natural_ or not. All that matters is staying alive, and I bet I could do that."

Beatriz sniffed in disapproval. "Staying alive's the easy part. It's the slaying that's important to learn about, Krin. And…" She stopped, scowling at Wesley. "Are you even paying attention to me?"

He'd been wondering if, when he went back to the pub the next night, Lilah would still be around. How much longer would her case keep her in town? Had she already left? But at the sound of Beatriz's voice, made shrill by annoyance, he'd jerked back to reality. "My apologies, what did you say?"

"Forget it," she said haughtily, turning back to her work with practiced preteen arrogance. "I guess you'll never know."

He bit back a laugh and bent down to help her with her maths, pushing thoughts of Lilah from his mind.

* * *

She _was_ back the next night, and she'd bought a drink for him and left it in front of the seat beside hers. "Hiya, Wes," she drawled, patting the seat beside her, and he took it with trepidation. "You didn't come back. I was beginning to think that I'd scared you off."

He raised his eyebrows at her, unwilling to become the stuttering mess he'd been last time she'd seen him. "Still working for Wolfram and Hart?"

"Aw, don't judge," she said laughingly. "I'm sure you've made some morally questionable decisions in your life…" She paused consideringly. "Or maybe you haven't. What are you, Head Boy at the Academy?"

He nodded, ducking his head modestly.

She broke out into laughter, her hand moving to run over his chest. "Oh, this must be a wild ride on the dark side for you, then, huh? Hanging out at a pub like this one when your friends are all at home studying? Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, I do believe I've underestimated you." She looked up at him and he drew closer, almost unconsciously. This Lilah was different than the one that he'd met earlier in the week, and he found that he rather preferred her like this, open and happy, those beautiful eyes and that musical laugh directed at him.

Then she was the seductress again, her voice low and throaty as her hand fell lower and squeezed softly at the bulge of his pants, making him gasp. "Let's go…talk this out… somewhere else, shall we?" she invited, and he found himself following her like a loyal puppy as she guided him to one of the darker, secluded booths in the back area, his hand loosely resting in her grip. He generally avoided the booths, knowing what went on inside them, more because he'd never had reason to participate in such activities than from the distaste that he professed he had for it all.

"Have a seat," Lilah purred, and he sat without protest, watching her hungrily as she slid into the booth beside him, so close that he could hardly breathe. Around him, a few of the regulars were watching him with amusement, probably shocked that the tweedy young man who never associated with any of them had finally found someone who'd piqued his interest. He flushed at the thought of them seeing…whatever Lilah was going to do… and opened his mouth to protest.

"Shh." She pressed a finger to his mouth, one that she quickly replaced with her lips, and he lost all coherent thought, letting out a low moan as her tongue slipped into his mouth, doing a slow dance with his own as she explored every last corner and crevice. He moved his own and she sucked at it sweetly, sensually, until he'd breached her lips and was within her. She smelled of tangerine and water lilies, such a heady scent that he could nearly taste it, and it made him wild.

At first cautious in his inexperience, he moved slowly until the lust overtook him and he lost control, quickening their movements until they were both panting with need, until he finally lifted Lilah by the hips and pulled her onto his lap, until Lilah finally reached down between them to lower his fly and pull down his boxers.

He jutted out between them, high and proud, and when Lilah wrapped her fingers around him and pulled with long, steady strokes, he nearly passed out right then and there. The sensations were overwhelming him, the feel of those delectable fingers moving along him making him gasp for completion, fall back, away from Lilah's lips, overwhelmed with the sensation…

Her hand moved lower still and _scraped_, and he came instantly, staining the front of her dark red dress with his seed too quickly to stop it. He bucked and cried out and it took what felt like forever for him to realize what he'd done, but once he did, he gaped at her with chagrin. "I'm…I…"

"No harm done," she murmured, reaching toward a napkin dispenser on the table and extracting some paper to wipe at her dress. She reached forward to clean him off and seal him back within his pants, and he felt a stirring there that he shoved aside in his utter humiliation and shame.

"A-Allow me," he finally stammered, feeling once more like the sixteen-year-old boy who spent far too much time wanking off in the shower after watching the slayers do their warm-up exercises. "I shouldn't have…"

She kissed him again, the laughter still in her eyes, even after what they'd done- what he'd done. "Lend me your jacket," she told him. "I'll bring it back tomorrow."

And suddenly buoyed by the idea that she'd be back soon, he eagerly gave her the article of clothing, swearing to himself that he would be better for her tomorrow.

* * *

"Hey, Wesley!" David Nabbit was bounding toward him, the younger student's eyes shining with excitement to be the one to share the news. "I just overheard some of the teachers talking, and they're saying that you're going to be selected for the Wilkinson Award for Magical Achievement this year! First Academy student in ten years!"

He smiled enigmatically. "I suppose that's up to Mr. Giles, yes?" But of course, he already knew, had known since Mr. Rayne had told him two weeks before. It was a great honor, to be sure, but he'd known that he deserved it after his breakthrough development of the barrier spell that now ensured that no more vampires would be able to break out of the basement and do again what had been done to that poor girl. "But I do appreciate you telling me," he assured David.

The boy beamed at the recognition, stretching out a pudgy hand that Wesley clasped in his own. "Congratulations, Wesley! I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."

Wesley finally extracted himself from the younger watcher's hero-worship and hurried toward the central wing of the Academy, where he was expected by Mr. Crowley to work on his thesis. He stopped in the front office to smile at Lydia Chalmers. The poor girl had only graduated three years before, and had already been relegated to secretary at the Academy. It was shameful, really. Lydia had been famous at the school for her nearly encyclopedic knowledge of vampire history, and everyone had been sure that she'd go far. But after _that_ incident, she'd been partially blamed, and no matter the promise she'd shown, she'd been too far disgraced to be sent anywhere else.

"Mr. Crowley is expecting you," she said, flashing him a smile that, had he seen it a week ago, he might have been affected by. But Lilah had driven thoughts of any other women from his mind, and Lydia certainly couldn't hold a candle to his seductress of the night.

He paused as he passed Giles's office to acknowledge the principal briefly and to calm himself a bit. Thoughts of Lilah were fine when he was alone, but it wouldn't do to see Mr. Crowley in this state.

Giles was deeply engrossed in a phone call with what sounded like Quentin Travers. "I assure you, there's simply no proof, and certainly not enough to put us out of business- ah, hello, Wesley, can I help you with anything?" Thoughts of the head of the Watchers Council had been enough for his excited state to abate, and he shook his head at Giles, moving on to Mr. Crowley's office.

Mr. Crowley was a difficult supervisor, one who would only be assigned to the very top watchers in their senior years, and Wesley had the utmost respect for the man. Not only was he an experienced watcher, but five years prior, he'd been the watcher of one of the oldest slayers in recorded history- one who had even borne a son. Wesley had great aspirations to follow Mr. Crowley's lead.

So he buried himself in their work, and tried hard not to preen when Mr. Crowley told him that his would be the best of the projects he'd seen in years. It was to be expected, after all. Over the years, he'd striven harder than anyone to excel at being a watcher. His thesis was just the next step on his road to success.

* * *

Lilah was back at the pub, as promised, that night, and this time, she'd skipped the bar altogether and was waiting for him in a booth, again. "Don't you have a job to do?" he asked curiously, taking the seat beside her and the drink that was offered. "Some nefarious scheme or whatnot?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm an intern, Wes. Not exactly up to the nefarious stuff yet. I do get a lot of coffee, though."

"Evil coffee?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

She laughed. "You never know, huh?"

It was difficult to see her as evil when she was so full of life, so much more engaging and enchanting than anyone he knew at the Academy. The other watchers were stuffy and cold, driven only by the mission and not the sense of enjoyment that he was quickly finding ruled Lilah's life. She was as quick to poke fun at him as she was to seduce him, and he loved them both, loved how refreshing she was in a life where he did everything by the book.

And he loved the way her hand felt on him, and the way she'd slipped under the table before he'd come (thankfully, not as quickly this time) and taken him into her hot mouth and swallowed him down.

"There," she said, planting a kiss on the head and zipping him up. "No mess this time."

And he had to laugh.

He was quickly growing addicted to her, returning every night for nearly another week to meet with her for conversation and pleasure. He'd asked her, after that second time she'd taken him, if he could do the same for her. She'd taught him about pleasuring a woman and he took to it with the single-minded determination that he did everything, some nights more concerned about bringing her to orgasm than his own pleasure.

At school, he found that he was freer, more careless and open. Twice that week he'd left for classes with his shirt untucked, and once he'd used the word "bloody" so carelessly that Mr. Rayne had given him the approving smirk that he usually reserved for his favorite derelicts. He'd even dared to come late to a meeting with Mr. Crowley, and sat through the resulting reprimand with an impatience that surprised even himself. His thoughts were constantly on Lilah, and when he skipped a tutoring session with Beatriz to head to the pub early one night, he could barely bring himself to feel guilt for it.

* * *

"You've been busy lately," observed a voice from beside him.

He didn't look up, recognizing the conversant immediately. Only one person spent most of his time at this memorial, after all, and for an understandable reason. "Hello, Gunn."

Charles Gunn had graduated two years before and had been immediately stationed at the Academy as one of the combat trainers. They'd had some vague rapport since then, despite their differences, and Wesley generally welcomed his presence. Not today, though, not while he was thinking about…

"Thinking of making a deal with the devil?" Gunn asked, and he turned to stare at the trainer.

"Pardon?"

Gunn smiled, almost bitterly. "That's why people come here, right? It's why this is here, so that everyone won't fuck up like she did. To remind them."

He felt a pang at that. "Gunn…"

Gunn clapped him on the shoulder, perhaps a bit harder than was customary. "Listen, man, you've got a good chance of getting a slayer next year. Don't screw it up." They stared at the memorial in silence, until Wesley, uncomfortable, excused himself and hurried to his room.

Tonight would be the night.

* * *

"Oh, my sweet, naïve Wesley," Lilah said, stroking his cheek with her finger. "Are you sure about this?"

He'd wanted to deny that he'd never done it before, that this was nothing new, but he couldn't, not to her. Lilah always knew when he was lying.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life," he told her confidently, turning his face to kiss her fingers. "But not here."

"Wes?"

He shook his head. "I want it to be special for both of us. I want to…"

And Lilah understood, and he loved her for knowing him so well. "Your place or mine?" she wondered.

It was far too late for any teachers to see, and disapprove, so he brought her into the school on his arm, glowing with pride. Lilah, instinctively grasping how important this was for him, didn't flirt with them as she was wont to do with the customers at the pub, making it clear that she was Wesley's and Wesley's alone. He relished the attention, the grudging admiration from his classmates, but he was far too lost in Lilah to enjoy it much.

"What about your roommate?" she asked as he fumbled with the key to his door.

He smirked, mirroring the one she did so well. "Head Boy, remember? I get my own room."

Her lips curled into her own smirk, and he took her face into his hands and kissed it away until she was gasping and panting for him. One of his classmates, passing by, let out an impressed whistle, and he flipped him a two-fingered salute.

"How I've corrupted you," Lilah breathed against him, jumping up to wrap her legs around him as he finally got the door open. "I love it."

He stumbled to his bed, pulling at her dress and yanking it over her head as they moved. She stripped him with ease, then pulled at her own lacy lingerie until she stood before him in all her feminine glory. He gaped, his eyes running over her curves and lower with a mixture of embarrassment and amazement. "Beautiful," he whispered, moving forward to touch her tentatively.

Lilah laughed. "Oh, don't get all shy on me again," she teased, and she was no longer a distant goddess, just his Lilah, and he attacked her lips with fervor once more.

It was like a dream, the woman he loved wholeheartedly in his home, in his bed, so impossibly close. He kissed a trail down her neck, moving further downward to breasts he'd barely glimpsed before to suck gently at hardened nipples, judging if he was doing it all right by the sound of her moans.

She pushed at him suddenly, and he moved away quickly. "Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly.

She laughed breathlessly. "Not even close, Wes. Just thinking that this isn't really right, is it?"

"Hm?"

She shifted him until he was on his back. "Let me take care of everything," she winked, and then she was sinking downward onto him, and he was inside her, very suddenly.

He opened his mouth, but there were no words, nothing that could possibly be more important than what was happening between them. He was engulfed in a fiery heat, tight and wet around him, and Lilah was moving up and down on him, her eyes closed in ecstasy and her fingers working furiously, bringing herself to the edge as she moved above him. Moisture coated her smooth thighs, and he watched himself disappear farther into her with a sort of amazement that this was really happening, at last.

He remembered suddenly the condom he'd had hidden in his night table since his first date when he was sixteen, and spoke quickly. "Lilah, we need to…"

She shook her head. "I'm covered," she assured him, rising suddenly, and then she plunged back down on top of him so quickly and deeply that he came instantly, shouting out his release as she clenched around him. The sensation was stronger than it had ever been before, meant more than anything they'd ever- _he'd_ ever done in his entire life.

"I love you," he gasped as they finally separated.

She smiled a half-smile, and for the first time since he'd met her, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Of course you do," she murmured, and curled up against him as they drifted off to sleep.

He wasn't surprised that she hadn't responded in turn, although it did hurt a bit. But he'd have far more time to convince her.

* * *

He was roused in the early morning by the intercom, Lydia's voice paging him immediately to the office. Lilah was gone.

He dressed hastily, hurrying down the hall and avoiding the stares from his fellow watchers. While last night they'd been admiring, today they were contemptuous, and Wesley wondered with a sudden worry if Lilah had said something to them before she'd left.

But no, Lilah wouldn't do that.

"Mr. Giles is waiting for you," Lydia said when he came in, and she looked almost pitying as she spoke. "You may go in right away."

Giles was standing at the window when he entered, staring out at the grounds. "Have a seat," he said in a steely tone.

Wesley sat. "Is something wrong, Mr. Giles?"

Giles turned to stare at him. "Your classmates have told me that you brought a woman back to the dormitories last night. Is that correct?"

Wesley nodded. Technically, there was no rule against it- well, not one that was generally upheld, anyway. Who had told Giles? A jealous classmate, perhaps? "I did."

"Who was she?"

"Her name is Lilah Morgan." He felt a sudden uneasiness, a reminder of the one thing about Lilah that he'd tried hardest to ignore during their time together. "She is an intern at Wolfram and Hart."

Giles took a step forward, his face hardening. "You- _you_, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, _Head Boy_- brought home a member of _Wolfram and Hart_?"

He wanted to tell Giles that he loved her, wanted to explain how she made him feel and what she meant to him, but he knew that it would all be moot before Giles's fury. "She was just an intern," he said finally.

"Not anymore, I'm certain," Giles said coldly, at last taking his seat. "Not since last night, when she stole all the damning evidence that will put four watchers in prison and bankrupt our school!"

Wesley gaped at him. "I'm sorry?"

Giles shook his head. "One of Wolfram and Hart's demon clients is suing the Watchers Council for the destruction of his castle. With the mission statement and the detailed proof of the action, we've lost the case. Your girlfriend took it all last night."

Wesley shook his head disbelievingly. "She wouldn't."

"She used you, Wesley." There was a building impatience in the principal's voice. "You were foolish and she used you."

He went on to explain that Wesley would be losing the Head Boy position and the award that he'd been meant to get, that his career options were now at great risk, particularly since this had happened so close to his commencement, but Wesley could barely absorb it all, the words still running through his head.  
_  
She used me._

No.

Don't be a fool, Wesley. The voice sounded much like his father, and he winced at the thought of the man's disapproval. _You were weak and innocent, and she used you. She never cared about you. You were only her mission.  
_  
He was numb.

He'd been grounded to premises for a month, and forced to endure his classmates' mocking laughter and his teachers' disappointment. Mr. Crowley had requested that he supervise a "more reliable" student, and although his request had been rejected, he now treated Wesley with disdain. Even Beatriz and Krinden no longer looked at him with that adulation that he'd once elicited from them.

The school itself was suffering, too, as the case went on and was closed less than two weeks after his night with Lilah. Only the generous contribution from a previously unknown benefactor named Chase kept it running, and Wesley knew, as did his scornful peers, that without that he might have doomed the entire system with his actions.

He went back to the pub when he was finally permitted to leave, looked around for Lilah with a despairing sort of eye, and when he finally realized that she was gone, he sank into their booth and the pit of emptiness that only seemed to get deeper and deeper.

"Pardon me." The bartender stood over him, a paper in his hands. "If you're looking for your lady-friend, she left this for you, if you came again." There was sympathy in his voice, but Wesley refused to acknowledge it, to let even this stranger see the disgrace that surrounded him.

He took the paper and read the brief note on it with a mixture of sorrow and anger.  
_  
Thank you for everything.  
_  
It smelled of tangerine.

**The End.**


End file.
